


Since U Been Gone

by frubeto



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26068288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frubeto/pseuds/frubeto
Summary: After the mountain, Jaskier goes through all 5 stages of grief. By writing vastly ahead-of-his-time and simultaneously slightly out-of-date popsongs.OR4 times Geralt doesn't get to apologise and 1 time he might.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx
Comments: 4
Kudos: 78





	Since U Been Gone

**Author's Note:**

> this idea has been with me for a while and i finally got it done. yay me! also yay to [Finish Your Fic Fest](http://finishyourfic.tumblr.com)
> 
> technically a continuation of [A Night Out In Lettenhove](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24274204/chapters/58504984) but can totally be read as a standalone
> 
> list of songs at the end

“You’re late,” Jaskier greeted from where he sat at the worktable, chin propped up on a cheap-looking bottle of wine. Valdo groaned.

“What do you want.”

He closed the door behind him and pulled off his doublet, throwing it on the bed with a satisfying  _flomsh._

Jaskier perked up.

“Long day?”

He huffed.

“You have no idea.”

The court just had no appreciation for fine art. He had no idea how often he would have to explain to the baron that – urgh. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the exhaustion enough to deal with whatever Jaskier now wanted from him, and when he turned around again, the man was right in front of him.

“Let me.”

And before he knew what exactly he was agreeing to, he found himself led back against the bed, made to sit down, and he fell back, Jaskier kicking off his boots to crawl up behind him.

“Scoot up,” he ordered once he had found a comfortable position against the headboard, but Valdo only made a disagreeing noise at the back of his throat and held up a foot. He didn’t need to tell Jaskier of what master craft his shoes were, and what a nuisance it would be to get them off.

Jaskier snorted above him, and leant down for an upside-down kiss before sighing dramatically and scooting down himself to put Valdo’s head in his lap. Fingers immediately went to his hair, sinking into his curls and massaging his scalp, making him melt, while another hand unlaced his shirt and roamed his chest, occasionally catching a nipple, and  _that_ was another way he wouldn’t mind the night going, but – 

“You wanted to talk about something?”

Jaskier hummed.

“It’s Geralt.”

_Wasn’t it always._

So Valdo settled in for a rant about the latest stupid thing the witcher had or hadn’t done, but then Jaskier’s voice turned suddenly serious as he told him about a dragon hunt, a mountaintop, a sorceress, how the witcher had told him in no uncertain terms he didn’t want him in his life anymore and broke his stupid heart, and his latest ballad that really was a masterpiece and would very much be worth the pain if he could ever bring himself to actually play it to an audience and – 

His voice wavered dangerously towards the end, and Valdo caught the hand that was gesticulating in front of his face when realisation hit him.

“You went and fell in love with him.”

Jaskier huffed.

“Well, obviously. First time I laid eyes on him, probably.”

Valdo tilted his head to see a sad little smile on the face above him.

“I always knew it wasn’t going to go anywhere, but-”

He nodded.

“Your heart doesn’t work that way.”

They both knew how it went. When Jaskier fell in love, he fell hard and fast, and his brain had little say in the matter. 

His hands went back into Valdo’s hair and shirt.

“I met him again yesterday,” he continued, more softly.

“Came into the inn I was playing at. I thought-”

He cleared his throat.

“Well, we’ve always had our disagreements, right down to insults sometimes, and I thought sure, he’ll come to his senses soon enough, give him some time and he’ll apologise, and we’d be on the road again in no time. But he. He just ignored me. Went to his room and left me standing there.”

A short, self-deprecating laugh broke the growing silence.

“I didn’t know what to do, so I played my worst ever rendition of Toss a Coin and got out of there.”

He took a deep breath, maybe to calm himself, though it didn’t work.

“I didn’t- I never-”

He sniffed and started again, but his voice cracked when he said,

“I guess he really did mean it.”

and Valdo’s heart lurched with it. The fingers on him were now fidgeting, almost shaking even, and he didn’t have to look up to know that Jaskier was blinking back tears.

He couldn’t take it.

He sat up, Jaskier’s hands falling from him with another sniff, and stayed sitting on the edge of the bed for a beat, steeling himself for the sight waiting behind him. He’d never been good at this. They’d always solved their problems with a quick fuck instead of words. But they were trying to be  _better_ now, godsdammit, and so he took a breath, sat up sideways, and before either of them could second-guess it, hauled Jaskier in by his knees and ass, and tucked his head under his chin.

“Shit, come here.”

The effect was immediate, and took a good fifteen minutes to wear off.

Jaskier was neither a small nor a weak man, and so the position was far from comfortable, and Valdo tried his best to hurry things along with a soothing hand down his back and a strong massaging hold at the back of his neck, but Jaskier just grabbed onto him tightly, and shook.

Good thing his shirt was going in the wash anyway, since it was surely going to be a wet and wrinkly mess by the end of this, not to speak of his ego. But his heart wouldn’t let him let go, and so he dropped his chin onto the top of his head and waited.

“You know what this calls for?” he asked when Jaskier had finally calmed down a bit.

“A drunken rebound shag?” Jaskier was quick to answer, and Valdo almost laughed at the deadpan delivery in a nasal and roughed up voice, before he remembered the bottle of wine on his desk. Oh.

“Is that what you came here for?”

A suspicious pause.  
  


“Maybe?”

“Well, there’s always time for that…”

Jaskier snorted. Valdo counted it as a win.

“But I was thinking more of… the greatest, meanest, most heartbreaking ballad the continent has ever heard.”

“Already wrote it.”

“Oh, did you? Or did you write a self-pitying thing about the evil witch that stole your boyfriend?”

Jaskier let out a caught and confused “uh” and Valdo hummed.

“You know, I should still have some old drafts lying around that I could never get quite right, maybe you could make use of them.”

He smirked.

“Of course they might need some work to fit your… _style,”_ he added, and Jaskier hit him in the shoulder for it.

But before long they were working together over a bottle of surprisingly good wine and a stack of old notes, fighting over rhythms and rhyme schemes, and that... That was certainly new.

And even though some of the songs hurt to admit to (he had been  _angry,_ alright?), as he watched Jaskier scribble frantically, tongue sticking adorably out the side of his mouth as he debated the best rhymes for the continent’s most creative curse words, he thought this was very much something he could get used to.

*

Oxenfurt welcomed him back with open arms.

He’d followed on Valdo’s invitation, who had skilfully let slip that Jaskier would also be in town, and of course it had been  _‘a pleasure’_ to host both of them, as it was always good to have  _‘different viewpoints’_ represented, and now here they were, main lecture hall filled with more students that Professor Denesle’s classes would normally see, waiting for him to finish the long-winded introduction to Valdo’s guest lecture on… what was it again?

“Emotion!” the professor helpfully supplied.

Wait, no, that couldn’t be right.

“The foundation and soul of any work of art, as you’ve well learned in Professor Ninas’ class. And he will also tell you-”

Jaskier leaned over to mock-whisper in Valdo’s ear, still loud enough for the first row to hear,

“That’s the one you missed, is it?”

Valdo leaned back.

  
“I was busy blowing the tutor in the storerooms.”

Jaskier snorted, smiling softly to himself. He knew what Valdo was doing, had been for some time now, trying to make him laugh at any cost, even his own, and he wasn’t complaining, it had actually been working so far, and he was r eady to shoot back that surely that couldn’t be his excuse for everything, to which he could almost certainly guess the reply, when – 

Geralt walked in at the back of the room.

Trying to go unnoticed, taking a seat in the corner as usual, but definitely hoping to catch Jaskier afterwards. None of the students saw, too awed by the presence of two legendary master bards, but from the front of the hall, he was hard to miss.

Jaskier wasn’t even surprised. He’d been getting whispers and rumours whenever he’d stayed somewhere a bit longer that a witcher was looking for him. It had only been a matter of time, Jaskier knew.

Valdo, on the other hand, seemed downright affronted that he’d dare turn up.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

Concerned, even, for Jaskier’s well-being, wasn’t that cute, but he waved him off. He was fine. He wasn’t threatening to break at any mention of the man. At least not any more. There had been a rough few days, but after that, something hot and furious had started curling in the pit of his stomach instead.

Redirecting his attention to whatever the professor was still on about, he perked up at the mention of his name.

“-now since we have the bard Jaskier here, I was hoping we could get a little demonstration before we move on to Master Valdo Marx?”

The audience fell into excited whispers at the prospect, and Jaskier had his lute in hand before he had even finished speaking. There was a song he’d been working on and meaning to get out into the world, and what better opportunity than right here, right now?

“I know this was not agreed upon, and I apologise for asking this of you unprepared-”

Oh, he was  _so_ prepared for this. Emotion, he’d said? Emotion he could get. He glanced over his shoulder at Valdo and knew by the smirk on his face he was thinking the same, and that settled it. He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes. Pressed his fingers to the opening chord. Tried to calm down enough for the gentle beginning of the song.

“ _I know I can’t take one more step towards you_

‘ _Cause all that’s waiting is regret._

_Don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore?_

_You lost the love I loved the most.”_

Actually playing it for the first time brought fresh tears to his eyes, but he was done crying about Geralt of fucking Rivia, so he forced them back and focussed on his fingers hitting the correct frets as he went into the first refrain. Only after he managed it smoothly, knowing he had shown off enough technical skill for now emboldened him to open his eyes for the second verse, aiming straight for Geralt and holding eye contact as he continued.

“ _I hear you’re asking all around_

_If I am anywhere to be found._

_But I have grown too strong_

_To ever fall back in your arms.”_

He was already breathing deeper now, pulling his singing voice from low within his body, filling the hall effortlessly with his accusations, drawing the notes out.

“ _And I learned to live, half alive._

_And now you want me one more time.”_

Geralt was, by now, looking severely uncomfortable in his corner. 

Good.

No. Actually, fuck that. He didn’t get to disappear into the brooding shadows, not this time. Jaskier stepped forward, making his way through the rows, drawing his audience in, but eyes always returning to Geralt. 

Let all of Oxenfurt know who this particular ballad was about.

“ _Who do you think you are,_

_Running round leaving scars?_

_Collecting your jar of hearts_

_And tearing love apart.”_

Halfway through the second refrain he heard a violin joining in, strong notes, yet not overpowering,  _supporting_ , and he didn’t need to look to know Valdo was now standing as well, instrument at his chin, adding himself to the composition. He’d always been good at that.

“ _You’re gonna catch a cold_

_From the ice inside your soul._

_So don’t come back for me._

_Who do you think you are?”_

Students were turning now, eventually gasping when they spotted a witcher. But not in fear, Jaskier was pleased to note, and not in awe to meet the great White Wolf and muse either. But in  _understanding._ Perceptive lot, he had to give it to them. They knew there was a story there they were missing, and as aspiring bards their imaginations could fill in the blanks well enough.

The gawking continued silently as none dared to voice their conclusions, attention zeroed in on the two men at the centre of this tale, while Jaskier broke into the third verse with soft high-pitched plucks to accentuate his words and contrast his rising voice.

“ _Dear, it took so long just to feel alright,_

_Remember how to put back the light in my eyes._

_I wish I had missed the first time our fates kissed_

‘ _Cause you broke all your promises.”_

He was at the top of his lungs now, almost yelling, and knew he was going to loose his breathing if he continued like this, still a refrain to go, but he wasn’t backing down.

“ _And now you’re back._

_You don’t get to get me back!”_

The following refrain, as predicted, he was gasping between lines, pressing words out in hot, wet, under-oxygenated anger, having to slightly alter the melody to make it, and while he was vaguely thinking about how he’d have to defend that with artistic license, the ending was steadfastly nearing, and he had to concentrate to at least nail that one high note.

“ _So don’t come back for me.”_

Deep breath.

“ _Don’t come back at all!”_

He stood heaving for a few beats, the room dead silent except for it, drawing it out as long as he could excuse, and even then he was still far from ready to sing again when the next line came up.

“ _Who do you think you are?”_ he repeated, voice rough from exertion.

“ _Who do you think you are?”_

He had closed his eyes again, needing all focus to not let his voice break, and yet it did anyway on the last repeat. He sighed, let the melody fade, and with the last note grabbed his lute and walked back to the front, and when he turned around again, Geralt was gone.

*

Jaskier was drunk.

Worse than that, he was drunk and  _singing._ Never a particularly flattering combination for him, and the added emotional turmoil made it an unbearable experience to anyone not at least half as deep into their ales as him.

“ _Take another little piece of my heart now, baby!”_

Valdo groaned. He’d only allowed this little adventure because he’d thought it’d do Jaskier some good – and because secretly, he might have wanted to see for himself what he saw in this kind of lifestyle – but it had quickly turned out to be a terrible idea as Jaskier still clung to that stupid witcher of his and used the opportunity to get absolutely smashed on cheap alcohol.

“ _Oh-oh, break it!”_

He leaned dangerously to one side, would have tipped over if he weren’t already hunched over his lute with the effort of singing.

“ _Break another little bit of my heart now, baby!”_

He should really be grateful that most of the patrons in the tavern were drunk enough to cheerfully bawl along with him, or the effect this would have on his reputation would be significantly worse.

“ _Oh-oh have a – have another fucking piece of my heart now, baby!”_

A good friend, Valdo thought, would probably put a stop to this. Save him from the humiliation in the morning, and all that. But they had never been what anyone would call ‘good friends’, and some part of him wanted to see how far this would go.

“ _And each time I tell myself that I, well I think I’ve had enough._

_But I’m gonna, gonna show you baby, that a bard can be tough._

_I want you to come on –_

_Come on –_

_Come on –_

_Come on and take it!”_

Valdo could only roll his eyes fondly as Jaskier started another refrain, getting even more people involved. But then, as he surveyed the crowd around them, he noticed a by now rather familiar figure lurking at the entrance and he froze. Fuck no. That was the last thing they needed right now.

He downed his own drink and stood, quickly marching over before the witcher could make it to Jaskier and fuck things up even more.

When he reached him, however, he was still only standing there, big scary swords at his side, unreadable expression on his face. Fine. Walking right up to him, Valdo got as close into his space as he dared, and gave his best unimpressed expression back.

“You should leave,” he stated, and for a moment, they only stared at each other. Maybe the witcher was used to being randomly thrown out of establishments – from what Jaskier had told him it had certainly seemed so – and would follow the order without trouble, letting him remain a nameless bigot. It would certainly seem the safer option. But then a flicker of recognition passed yellow eyes and the situation shifted.

Behind them, Jaskier had finished his song and went on to the next, one Valdo quickly identified as one of his own old ballads, and reminded him that  _fuck,_ he really needed to end this,  _now._

But witcher’s gaze wandered over to Jaskier with a frown that could only be attributed to guilt – which was good, Valdo thought, since he was the reason he now had to deal with a sad yowling piece of bard after all, if it didn’t also mean he wasn’t going to back down.

“I need to talk to him.”

Obviously. But – 

“ _I don’t mind it, I still don’t mind at all.”_

Jaskier’s voice halted his train of thought, floating over to them way clearer than he’d thought him capable at this point in the evening, and Valdo had to turn around to assure himself it was still him. But there he was, sitting down on a low stool, singing the words once aimed at himself.

“ _It’s like you’re the swingset and I’m the kid that falls.”_

Valdo sighed. He hadn’t noticed his absence or the presence of the newcomer yet, and it would be best to stay that way.

“Not now,” he told the witcher.

“ _It’s like the way we fight, the times I’ve cried._

_But I want more, no I won’t stop,_

‘ _Cause I just know you’ll come around, right?”_

Geralt stared at him, then at Jaskier. Then back at Valdo, without ever moving a single muscle on his face or any change in his tone when he said,

“I need to apologise.”

By the gods, why did Jaskier have to fall in love with such an idiot.

“Yes,” he said, holding his ground, “I agree. But not right now.”

“ _No, I don’t believe you when you say don’t come around here no more._

_I won’t remind you, you said we wouldn’t be apart.”_

“He’s drunk off his arse and in a bad mood,” Valdo continued when there was no reaction, “and you’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you near him.”

What followed was more silence, and Valdo was seriously wondering how Jaskier coped.

“ _No, I don’t believe you when you say you don’t need me anymore._

_So don’t pretend to not to love me at all!”_

Right. Going with reason, then.

  
“Anything you say now he’ll have forgotten once he’s slept it off. You could apologise, he might even forgive you. And then what? Regret it in the morning? Getting you both nowhere? That what you want?”

Geralt grunted, and Valdo hoped this meant he’d get lost, because he knew the next part of the song, and Jaskier was going to miss the high d flat by at least a quartertone, and he would not stand for this bastardisation of his work any longer.

“ _So don’t just stand there and watch me fall!”_

“You should go,” he repeated, and this time Geralt did, if with a disgruntled hum and a chronic frown on his face, and Valdo huffed in relief. 

“ _Cause I – Cause I still don’t_ m̴̧̘̲̱̤̓̃̓̚i̵̥̙̓͘ň̸͎̟̪͚̹̓̑d̷̺̤̊͌̓͜͝ͅ _at_ a̴̛̫̜͖̠̿͠l̴͔͛̉̌l̶̪̬̭͕̃̒̉̒͠ _!”_

Maybe too early.

*

The next time Geralt saw Jaskier, he didn’t need that Marx guy to tell him that this wasn’t a good time.

He’d followed his trail to the competition in Aedirn, taken an honestly shit job to be here, and almost got himself killed, but as soon as he got the chance, he’d be gone again.

The way Jaskier was sitting on the stage, propped up on a chair, eyes closed, holding onto his lute for dear life, it was unlike him. He looked fragile. Ready to shatter. And it was dramatic, sure, staged for effect, yes, but also so very honest it hurt to watch. 

And to hear.

Geralt never thought to interpret Jaskier’s more romantic ballads to be about him, but recently, he couldn’t help but to.

“ _I never want to see you unhappy._

_I’d thought you’d want the same for me.”_

He knew Jaskier hadn’t broken up with anyone, hadn’t even started anything serious since the Countess, not counting whatever was going on with Marx, and Geralt knew Jaskier to always write from first – or secondhand – experience, and there hadn’t been any reason to write a song like that except for, well, him.

“ _Goodbye my almost lover, goodbye my hopeless dream._

_I’m trying not to think about you, can’t you just let me be?”_

Geralt emptied his ale.

If he hadn’t know the bard was in love with him before, he certainly did now. There had been little room for doubt after the Oxenfurt disaster, and then Yen had squished even that. Truthfully, some part of him had probably known on that day on the mountain, but had vastly misjudged the scale of it. And so in an effort to not break his heart had sent him away, doing apparently exactly that. Fuck, he should have noticed it had already been too late.

“ _So long, my luckless romance. My back is turned on you._

_Should have known you’d bring me heartache – almost lovers always do.”_

In his defence, though, not many people went and fell in love with a witcher. How was he to know? He had no point of reference for this. Human courting was not exactly covered in Kaer Morhen’s education of beasts and their attack patterns.

And the bard knew better than to communicate with him in pretty words and riddles.

Jaskier’s playing on the stage changed tune suddenly, and drew Geralt in again.

“ _I cannot go to the ocean, I cannot walk the streets at night,_

_I cannot wake up in the morning without you on my mind.”_

Fuck.

“ _So you’re gone and I’m haunted, and I bet you are just fine._

_Did I make it that easy to walk right in and out of my life?”_

Now that was a bit much. If anything, Jaskier had been the one to walk into his life, uninvited and unwelcome. At least at the time. And he had never given him reason to believe any of that had changed. And maybe that was part of the problem, but that was beside the point. Trust Jaskier to lie even in his most personal songs.

Geralt grunted and got up as Jaskier repeated the refrain. He’d asked him to let him be, and that was exactly what he was going to do. Yen would be annoyed, but he’d find him again. Later.

“ _...almost lovers always do.”_

*

“ _Hands touch, eyes meet,_

_Sudden silence, sudden heat._

_Hearts leap in a giddy whirl._

_He could be that boy._

_I’m not that girl.”_

Jaskier stepped through the tables on soft feet, the ladies throwing him pitying looks and, fine, if that translated to coin he would not be complaining, but this wasn’t a sad song. It was a warning.

“ _Ev’ry so often we long to steal to the land of what-would-have-been._

_But that doesn’t soften the ache we feel when reality sets back in.”_

There was an older man at a nearby table who seemed to know what he was talking about, some wistful smiles directed at the floor giving him away, and so Jaskier tried to make eye contact as he came closer and continued.

“ _Blithe smile, lithe limb._

_She who’s winsome, she wins him.”_

The man nodded at him, and Jaskier smirked back. Maybe they could do some mutual consoling later in the evening.

But then he looked up again, his eyes drawn by the movement at the bar, and he had to stop himself from groaning out loud at who was there, haggling for a meal. White hair, two swords, couldn’t leave things well enough alone.

“ _Raven hair with a gentle curl,_

_That’s the girl he chose_

_And heaven knows_

_I’m not that girl.”_

Some guy in the back snorted derisively and was promptly silenced by the lady accompanying him. Jaskier ignored them both in favour of a young girl at a corner table.

“ _Don’t wish, don’t start,_

_Wishing only wounds the heart.”_

She smiled at his attention, and he smiled back, and for a moment he forgot his next line, and usually it would come back to him with another steadying look around, but this time it only made matters worse when he spotted the company Geralt was keeping. 

Oh fuck.

The string he’d been holding vibrated with an ugly clattering sound under his fingertip as it went lax in shock, and then he missed the next string and played a wrong note, accompanied by a complete lack of words in his head.

Why. Why did they need to run into him together? What had he done that the gods would punish him so?

Given the opportunity he would probably be able to make quite the list, but right now his priority was his reputation, and so he hastily recovered the melody and went back to finish the song. Unable to tear his gaze from her, however, standing by the bar and waiting for her and Geralt’s ale, staring him down like she knew exactly that this was already the second song he’d written about her, and wasn’t pleased with it.

“ _There’s a girl I know._

_He loves her so._

_I’m not that girl.”_

He let the music fade out, and had to cut the following applause short as Yennefer left the bar. Nope, not dealing with that.

It only took a few notes for the first patrons to recognise the following song as his most famous one, and after that, he owned the room. It pulled all attention to the newly arrived witcher, and enough people to their feet that any approach would be impossible. And just to make sure, he started moving. Keeping busy. Hopping between tables as he sang, making his way around the whole room.

Until his path was suddenly blocked by a burly man leaving to take a piss, and he had to divert to the left, which brought him right past Yennefer’s table. 

Shit. 

He played even louder, and kept his back to them.

“ _Toss a coin to your witcher, oh Valley of plenty, oh-oh-”_

“Oh!”

He almost fell as he was yanked backwards by his collar. The audience booed. Only by sheer luck he got his lute out of the way on time, and caught himself on the table. 

Geralt was throwing Yennefer a warning glare.

She ignored it, unsurprisingly, and instead nodded her head meaningfully in Jaskier’s direction as she let go of his doublet.

Geralt sighed.

“We need to talk.”

Oh, great. Wonderful. Just perfect.

“Do we.”

He thought the situation was quite clear.  
  


“Yes,” Yennefer spat, at the same time that Geralt said, “Please.”

Alright then.

“Fine,” he conceded. At least he could try and make him stop following him around the continent. But first – 

“I have a song to finish, if you’ll excuse me.”

“ _Toss a coin to your witcher, a friend of humanity.”_

It should have been impossible to hear Yennefer speaking over the sound of his own singing, especially if she was talking to Geralt, and yet,

“If he writes another song about me I’ll make sure there won’t be anything left to apologise to.”

**Author's Note:**

> list of songs Jaskier sings in this:  
> (all of them just _slightly_ modified to better fit him)
> 
> Jar of Hearts - Christina Perri  
> Piece of my Heart - Janice Joplin  
> I don't Believe You - Pink  
> Almost Lover - A Fine Frenzy  
> I'm not That Girl - Idina Menzel (Wicked)
> 
> rejected song ideas:  
> single ladies - beyonce  
> since u been gone - kelly clarkson  
> broken hearted girl - beyonce  
> big girls cry - sia
> 
> and a special mention of
> 
> Tah Dah - Mika
> 
> bc that was the one i had in mind for very mean drafts valdo still has that were about jaskier and i really wanted to fit that in but i couldnt. maybe ill write a deleted scene fic for it...
> 
> Talk to me on [tumblr](http://frubeto.tumblr.com).


End file.
